


The War of Foolhood

by torterafan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Original, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-29 12:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19020250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torterafan/pseuds/torterafan
Summary: A fictional work based on the game of throne television series and the ASOIAF books. Set 100+ Years after the war of the five kings. Ser Trystane Dayne faces his past as new demons arise to replace each of his vanquished inner demons.





	The War of Foolhood

**Trystane I**

Outside Lord Baratheon's wedding reception, Ser Trystane Dayne found his sworn Lord, Ser Rylen Martell, the Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear. He sat beside him and gazed across the city. Tonight was a night of celebration. Storm’s End was illuminated, not with light but with joy and dance, emitting an aura rarely felt so universally.

“So, it seems everyone’s getting married as of late. Duty or love, it seems as though half the houses in Westeros are marrying off their children.” He looked up at the sky. “Alliances are being formed. The seals of blood are forming sides in the growing disdain for the Targaryens. Have you an eye for the politics of it all My Lord?” Trystane looked at his friend with his cold purple eyes, not lending foresight into his question.

“Well,” Rylen smiled briefly, “You know how things are.” They sighed and glanced back inside. “Forbidden love lends itself to duty.” The silence was broken apart by Sayden Baratheon laughing occasionally, his joy uncontainable within the large room. “You’re really out here? With me? Your cousin is being wed for fuck's sake. Go drink, dance, or whatever it is you do at weddings. ” Their brown eyes met with Trystane's purple. This was a conversation that slowly developed. It started not long after their father died, and when Trystane started taking his duties more seriously than they did as children. It was slow and laborious and repeated every few weeks. Rylen needed to be wed.

Trystane cleared his throat, “I have time, the night is still young.” Trystane peered inside, the music calmed his mind and lent focus to the young knight's thoughts. The politics of life were hard to follow and only seemed to bring pain. Regardless, he needed to uphold his duties. He needed to look out for and protect Rylen. He smirked, “Besides, I have to make sure you stay here, just in case.”

“In case of what?” Rylen almost seemed nervous. They looked down the road and listened for a while, expecting someone to greet them. “You have to tell me, you can’t just be vague, Trystane.” They stared at Trystane a second, followed by a few more until the tension broke. “Is he coming?”

Trystane stood up and helped Ser Martell up to the ground. “He might, he might not. It’s a wedding Rylen, let’s have a little fun!” He watched as Rylen disappeared into the crowded building. He waited a while. The stars grabbed his attention, they were scattered along the sky, looking a bit different than at home. They painted the sky with elegance and grace. He admired them. To illuminate the sky every night for centuries must take power so old and so sacred, that the thought hurried Trystane inside.

Inside, Lords and Ladies from Last Hearth to Old Town were dancing, singing, and sharing stories. Ser Dayne took in the vibrant celebration. Everyone was happy. So often these receptions were tainted with a dullness that muted much of the celebration. Trystane figured that Lord Baratheon made sure none of that nonsense made its way into his reception. ‘Sayden is clearly in love,’ Trystane thought. ‘Good.’ 

The halls were adorned with House Baratheon’s sigil, a stag on a field of yellow standing tall and mighty. He could make out House Stark’s Direwolf on a few smaller banners, perhaps to honor the newlyweds family, or maybe just to appease them. Large tables took up most of the space. On top were many pitchers of wine and large plates housing a feast fit for a king. Traditionally, everyone is sat at a table for most of the dinner; This feast was different than others, most people were moving about, actively talking too as many people as they could. 

His eyes quickly followed a crowd of laughter. Dacey Baratheon, the newlywed bride, Trystane's cousin, was surrounded by a great several ladies. Lord Dayne sat down and watched. Mostly Northern Ladies, they all seemed to carry a joy that was palpable. He could faintly make out stories of childhood intertwined with teasing. He smiled as he caught some of the jokes. ‘Maybe I should say hello? Is it weird I’m just watching them? Would it be even weirder if I just walked up to them?’ His thoughts were pestering his mind with worries he didn’t need.

One of the Ladies caught him. Her eyes were light blue. They seemed to pierce through him like cold winds pierce through the skin. She read what he was thinking like a book wide open and well lit. She smiled at him and turned a bit. Trystane's core was filled with a sense of panic. He felt an emotional weight from in his chest. He’d been in many battles, he’d taken the lives of men he knew, yet nothing felt quite this heavy. He looked to either side. She was clearly looking at him. She turned more and started to make her way towards him. He tried to find a way out.

“Hi.” She smiled wide. Her face watched his panic settle, his energy shifting into braving the unknown, or rather, the uncertain. “I’m Lady Manderly of White Harbour. And who might you be?” Her hair reminded him of the dark oak’s of Riverrun, it was a lovely dark brown. She was rather short, but Trystane figured she made up for that in force of personality.

“I’m Ser Trystane, Lord of Starfall, My Lady.” He bowed. It wasn’t necessary for him to bow, but it was instinctual. She was beautiful in his eyes, and that made him even more nervous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled and felt some of his nerves calm. She smiled back and laughed ever so slightly.

“Ser Dayne? Dacey’s mentioned you once or twice, not too mention everyone else that’s talked about you. We’re close friends, her and I.” She glanced back at the group and waved. Dacey noticed Trystane and smiled, waving him over. “Have you said hello to her yet? It is her wedding after all.” She grabbed his hand and took him over.

“Dacey! Hello!” Trystane smiled, accepting his cousin's open arms for an embrace.

“Trystane!” She looked him up and down, taking him in. “You’re so tall now! It’s been so long.” Her face was surprised, more than anything else.

“You’ve grown too. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to say hello.” He glanced behind her, surveying the room. “I’ll be in town for a few days longer, we can catch up then?”

“You better remember!” She smiled and gave him a hug goodbye. Trystane put his hand up in greeting to the few Lady’s he knew and started to walk to his seat.

Lady Manderly grabbed his arm and turned him around. “You can just call me Robyn, Ser Dayne.” She was upset, staring into him like earlier, trying to read him.

“Just Trystane is fine, Robyn. Will you be in town any longer than tonight?”

“Just a day or two, then I sail back home.” She peered behind him for a moment. “What’s your deal, anyway? You almost looked afraid to talk to her. I’ve heard people call you the bravest person alive! Yet you’ve seemed terrified of everyone who wants to talk to you.” She squinted, focusing on his face, “Is it because you’re scared we all remember you for killing Beric?”

His face turned white, his stomach dropped. “I uhm,” he struggled with what he wanted to say. “That’s a long story.” He struggled with getting anything else out. He stood there for a second longer before starting to turn around.

“Sorry, that’s rude of me to ask.” She looked down. “I’m sorry. It’s a sensitive subject. I know you did it for good reason, we all do.” She looked back at him. “I know it’s not my place to tell you that you were justified, but I do think that. I know Dacey does. I don’t think there’s a Northman alive who’s said a bad word about your deed.”

Dayne closed his eyes and sighed. “He was my cousin. He shared my blood and my house name.”

“You knights, you’re all too stubborn to see the world for what it really is.” She leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “I hope I’ll see you again,” she said, just before taking off. Trystane tried to find his seat. He closed his eyes and started to drink. ‘Nice girl,’ he thought to himself before drinking the finest wine they had. He took a while to recover, but once he was ready he went back to his quest.

Trystane looked for Rylen. They were easy to find, they stuck out like a thumb amongst all the First Men and Andals. He found Prince Martell locked in a drinking game. They were losing. Trystane watched at a distance, he found Rylen’s drunken escapades amusing. He waited a moment after the game ended, and started his approach. His cousin, Lord Stark, the Warden of the North, stopped him. The Northman towered over his cousin with a wide smile.

“Trystane! I’m glad you came!” He embraced his cousin with a tight hug, “It’s good to see family.” Lord Stark let go of his Dornish cousin. It was hard to see the relation at first glance. Lord Stark was tall, black-haired and brown eyed with a weathered look that came from living in the frigid north. Lord Dayne was of average height, and what pale silver hairs did crown his head, were overshadowed by thick forests of dark brown hair.

“Jon, it’s good to see you too. How’s Winterfell?” Trystane darted his eyes to make sure Ser Martell was still a short walk away. He suffered when confronted with small talk, but he did enjoy the company of his cousin. He never envied Jon’s duties. Sure, Warden of one of the seven kingdoms was a nice thought, but the North was the largest of them all.

“Well, being the Lord of Winterfell was a lot more work than father told me it would be, but I’m glad I can uphold our legacy. I don’t wish to bore you with details. How about we catch up on you and Starfall sometime, we don’t leave for the North for a few days.”

“I have more people to see, but I intend to see you again before you leave!” They embraced before Trystane made his way back to Rylen. The smell of wine filled his nostrils, it made him feel uneasy. Tonight was one of the few where he drank, but the smell still made him feel uneasy. The halls were filled with drunk Lord’s, Lady’s, Knight’s, Bastards, and many more people he could not place. Ser Dayne reached a hand out to grasp Rylen’s shoulder, but he stopped. Someone else had caught his eye.

He spotted Robyn in the background, and his heart started to swell. He never really thought about falling in love, it was hard for him. All his life he dreamed of joining the kingsguard, and upholding the oaths that come with it. He was the youngest of two, so until his brother was killed, he never worried about continuing his families line. He had been closed off to those who looked to court him, so now as he was older, his sudden burden weighed even heavier. It was now, though, he felt his heart the heaviest. His world became detailed but blurry, his body acutely aware of itself, scared of any imperfection. He saw her standing there, and he knew what he had to do, this very moment.

“OH! Trystane! You scared me.” Rylen laughed and smiled wide when they noticed their friends expression. “Well well well, is the Lord of Starfall currently starstruck?” They grasped Trystane's shoulder. Rylen have a sly look, one showing a slight expression of joy, not too different from a celebration of victory.

“No. Sorry, My Lord. I just feel uneasy.” His face washed away in an instant. His face turned, sour and curdled. “Have you found him yet?”

“Do you really think The Prince of the Seven Kingdoms would be here without everyone knowing?” Martell scoffed. “It’s ok to fall for someone, Trystane, no one can expect you to remain loveless until betrothed.” Prince Martell squeezed their vassal’s shoulder. “You put too much pressure on yourself. It’s a wedding, live a little. You owe that much too yourself, at least, just like you said I did. You’re always confronting death and such, you deserve to be happy.”

Ser Trystane took a look around again. “I don’t know if I can.” He glanced back at Rylen. “Prince Martell, may I?” He faced the exit. Trystane was sad, his face carried dread and gloom.

“I’m not your keeper.” They sighed. “I’m going to be happy tonight. I want you to do the same.” Rylen looked behind Trystane and greeted an old friend from the Westerlands. “Trystane I might be a moment! Have fun without me!” 

Trystane forced a smile and started walking to the exit. It was moments like these he felt a certain inescapable loneliness, he had trouble talking to strangers and even more trouble making friends. ‘Backstabbers,’ he thought, ‘that’s what they could become.’ His face dropped the forced smile. ‘Why would you teach a boy that?’ His anxieties about others only grew abundant as more tried to befriend him. He trusted very few with his friendship. Ser Dayne longed for nothing more than companionship, and whatever from it might take.

Across the room, pairs of eyes followed Trystane as he made his slow and drawn out exit. They watched as he awkwardly fumbled around groups of people, each recognizing him, and asking him to join in their drunken fun. Discomfort grew in the corner of Trystane's eyes as he forced a polite smile and no to each and everyone one of them. He looked tired. He looked sad. It was politeness and his longing for connection that kept his escape slow

Trystane sat just outside, at the same spot as before. Constellations shined down on him. He wondered who named them, and who gave them their stories, or if they were real, who first shared those stories. It was a joyous day but he couldn’t help feeling sad. Maybe it was the pressure he felt to marry someone, The pressure to continue his house. Possibly, it was his self imposed isolation in the middle of his cousin's wedding. It was moments like these he wished he held the gods close to his heart, the old or the new. He wanted nothing more than to pray for something better. 

He closed his eyes and took in the air. The winds filled his lungs, trying to ease him. He opened his eyes and noticed something. He looked to the side and saw someone had quietly joined him. “Selwyn?”

Lord Reed adopted a large grin, white and shiny teeth breaking up the ragged look of his face. “How long’s it been? A year, maybe two?” He hugged Trystane, washing away the sadness on his comrade’s soul. “You grew taller, and sadder” He laughed and slapped Trystane shoulder.

“I didn’t think you’d come to the wedding! Crannogmen don’t often come to these events. I’m really happy to see you.” Trystane looked at his friend with the distinct happiness only brought on by seeing old friends. Not too long ago, The two of them, as well as Relyn Martell, were all squires for Lord Tully. Selwyn’s hair grew only darker, almost black like Trystane's cousins, and with green eyes reminding him of the neck, Selwyn’s home. The swamps had been kind to his friend.

“Truth be told, I came to talk to you. I’ve been traveling without telling anyone. When we last saw each other, at the Battle of Harrenhal was it? I lied to you. I haven’t been home since before I was a squire. I was beyond the wall.” He looked back inside and stood up. “Will you follow me?” Trystane stood up, putting faith in his friend. The two walked down the road for a while, silent.

They stopped a few blocks away, at a quiet intersection. “Selwyn, what are you trying to tell me?” He looked confused.

“I don’t know who I can trust. You’ve always tried to do the right thing, so I’m only telling this to you.” He looked around and began whispering. “After the war, I went to the Isle of Faces, where I’ve stayed until a few months ago. I don’t know where to start, or how too explain what I’ve seen. All I know is that the Old Gods are real.” Trystane looked at his face, for any indication that this might be a joke or an elaborate ruse. “I know how it sounds, but I’m telling the truth. I’ve seen the crow beyond the wall. The ancient tales are true.”

“Selwyn, you’ve gone mad. Why are you telling me any of this? I know you always took the religion of your forefathers seriously, but this is insane.”

“I know how it sounds. I know it’s hard to trust me, but all I can do is hope you will. I don’t know who I can trust with what I have to say, but you and Relyn are good and decent. I’d tell him too, but he doesn’t have the blood of the First Men, it’s the only reason I think you might even believe half of what I want to tell you, Trystane.” His eyes began to plead, “I’ve seen things, things a man isn't supposed to see. I don’t mean bloodshed, like the war we fought in, side by side. I’ve seen people far away, and times long gone, and times yet to be.”

Trystane put his hands on Selwyn’s shoulders. “You’ve gone mad. You really have, haven’t you?” His face started to swell up with tears waiting to fall. “This is all nonsense. Selwyn, I want to believe you, I really do. But this? This is nonsense.”

Selwyn put a hand on Trystanes, “War is coming again.” Selwyn leaned in, almost pressing his lips against Trystanes ear, “Blood or Silence. That’s what the king told you, isn't it? I know you’ve never told anyone about it.” Horror and astonishment fell on Trystanes face.

“How did you know?”

“War Is Coming."

 


End file.
